The Other Woman
by LadyEliseB
Summary: Sherlock and John get a surprise visitor. Kat has her own way of finding out the truth. The only mystery in her life is her husband's true feelings for her. **complete story**


**Author Note: **I wanted to write a romance featuring Mycroft (who is a fantastic character) but I didn't want to turn him into a simpering lunatic. Based on Mycroft as played by Mark Gatiss in The BBC's Sherlock.

I don't own the characters etc etc etc…

**The Other Woman**

**By LadyEliseB**

She entered 221b Baker Street as a vision of loveliness, dressed in a pastel suit, with white stockings and summer shoes to match her suit. She was about thirty years old, with a proper woman's figure that had curves in all the right places. John Watson could only gawp, smitten at first sight, and trying desperately to think of something witty and charming to say. Instead he just offered her a seat, wishing he'd had chance to tidy up first. Sherlock looked at his watch, as if already bored. John would have to have a word with him again about being more welcoming to prospective clients, even though it was like trying to communicate with a lump of wood.

"I'll save you the scan," she said to Sherlock, as she sat down, with a twinkle in her grey eyes. "I travelled First Class from Derbyshire, and I had a coffee and a Danish. Look," she pointed to the lapel of her jacket. "There's the tell-tale crumb. Oh, and I was chatted up by a man claiming to be a secret agent."

"He probably was," said Sherlock. "You can hardly think you got all the way here without being noticed or followed. " He looked at his watch again. She grinned back at him, and shook her head.

Watson frowned. It seemed as if the woman and Sherlock knew each other. Was she some girlfriend that Sherlock hadn't told him about? That couldn't be right, because Irene Adler was The Woman. If John had his way, this beauty would be The Woman in his life.

"Actually I did," she said, laughing. "I managed to lose the new guy, Andrew. He's such a sweetie, but obviously hasn't been warned not to accept a cup of tea from me."

"What happened to the other one? The one with the demanding mother?"

"You mean Peter? Oh, she died. Poor thing. So he had to go home and sort out all her stuff. It's sad, him losing her, but at least he can be open about his lover, Simon now. At least that's what I told him."

"Yes, but it's a pity that Simon is only sleeping with him to get information."

"Do you think? Damn it, Sherlock," she said, with no real malice in her voice. "You always did manage to ruin a good romance. And stop looking at your bloody watch. I told you, I managed to get down here without being noticed."

"Did you use a credit card?"

"No, because it probably sets off some alarm in his office. I used cash."

"Then he'll know you've drawn it out of the bank and work out how much you'll need to travel to London and book a hotel."

"I was much cleverer than that, Sherlock. I've been drawing an extra tenner every now and then for the past few years, and saving it so I have ready cash when I need it."

"So why the subterfuge?"

"Because I'm going to see a friend."

"Male?"

"No. A friend of mine has a problem and needs my help … well you know he'll just wave his hands and sort it all out."

"Is that a bad thing?" Sherlock looked at his watch again. "You arrived downstairs six minutes go. Give it another four and he'll be here too."

"No he won't. And yes, it is a bad thing to let him do everything. I'm not a child. I can do things on my own."

"I'm sorry," said John Watson, cutting in. "As Sherlock has clearly forgotten his manners, let me introduce myself. I'm John Watson." He held out his hand, and she took it gratefully, with a smile that was brighter than the sunshine outside. "And you are…?"

"I'm Katherine. I've heard a lot about you, John. I love your blog. Is it alright if I call you, John? You can call me Kat if you want."

"Of course. Good to meet you, Kat. And are you a relative? A friend of the Holmes family?"

"So neither of them has mentioned me…" The smile went from her face, and it seemed that the sun went in at the same time. "I thought at least he might have…" She chewed her lower lip and swallowed hard. "Of course he wouldn't. That would be personal and the Holmes boys don't do personal."

John was about to ask another question, when they heard a footfall on the stairs.

"Nine and a half minutes," said Sherlock, looking at his watch for the last time. "That's got to be a record. Especially in daytime traffic. Though he could have been working nearby."

Kat seemed to hold her breath, but resolutely refused to turn around and look at the new visitor.

"Mycroft…" John frowned. The elder Holmes brother entered the flat, dressed in his customary pin-striped trousers and waistcoat, with a plain black long-length jacket over the top. He looked every bit the Edwardian gentleman and something of an anachronism in the twenty-first century.

"Hello, Mycroft," said Kat, still not looking at the new visitor. Her lips were set in a thin line.

"Hello, Katherine, dear."

John's eyes widened. He didn't think he'd ever heard Mycroft use a term of endearment to anyone.

She turned and glared at Mycroft. "How did you know?"

"You didn't give your security guard enough sedative. You always were too afraid of killing them."

"I don't need a security guard."

"Obviously, given my role in the government, you do. Besides, if you'd told me you were coming to London, I could have had a car meet you at the station."

Kat stood up. "I don't need to be met, and I don't need a chaperone. I'm here on private business, and that means not having a dozen of your spies following me everywhere I go."

"Sorry," said John, holding up his hands. "I'm a bit out of the loop here. Katherine … Kat…" He noticed Mycroft's nostrils flare at the familiarity. "Who are you exactly? I didn't know Mycroft and Sherlock had a sister."

"She's not our sister," said Sherlock, looking at John as if he'd said something incredibly dumb.

"Certainly not," said Mycroft, with a look of disgust. "She's my wife."

"Mycroft has a wife?" John glared at Sherlock. Mycroft and Kat had gone downstairs to talk, Mycroft having said something about dropping her off at her hotel. Before that he had told Sherlock he needed his help with something and that he and John must follow them as soon as possible. "Mycroft has a wife and in all the time I've shared a flat with you, no one has ever mentioned her. Not him. Not you. Why?"

"The subject never came up."

"And there's me thinking he must be shagging Anthea."

"He might be."

"What? With a wife like that back at home."

"I think it's pretty obvious that things between him and my sister-in-law aren't exactly wonderful."

"I'm not surprised things are bad if he has his people following her and reporting on her every movement. I think you'll find it's called stalking."

"You've seen her on a good day, when she's all sunny and light and happy with herself for beating Mycroft at his own game. Or so she thought. You haven't seen her at her worst, which …" Sherlock looked out of the window, "is happening right about now."

"I'd be surprised if that woman has a worst, Sherlock. She's utterly lovely."

"Yes, but you're not a very good judge of women, are you, John? First of all there was Sarah, that doctor who got all upset because Moriarty's Chinese gangsters nearly shot her. Then there was that other one who got upset because I called her Sarah."

"And there you have the difference in perspective between the Holmes worldview and the rest of the world, Sherlock. I may not be an expert with women, but I do know that they don't like being shot at, or called by another woman's name." He shrugged in an exaggerated way. "Crazy, I know, but who can fathom women, eh? Certainly not your and your brother."

"What do you mean?"

"My God, you don't see it either, do you? That's one up to me, I think." John nodded. "It doesn't happen often, but it's feels good when it does."

"What?" Sherlock frowned, clearly flummoxed. "What?"

It was with some satisfaction that John ignored him and left the room.

They went downstairs where Kat was standing outside Mycroft's car. He seemed to be trying to coax her in. It put John in mind of a lion tamer trying to incite trust in a lion cub. Andrea stood at the side of the road. John didn't bother speaking to her, as she was engrossed in her Blackberry as usual. Plus he couldn't take his eyes off Katherine Holmes.

Kat was speaking. Her cheerful demeanour had been replaced with a face as black as thunder. "Don't you ever feel like ramming that phone right up her…?"

"Katherine!" Mycroft's voice rang out in Baker Street, causing a few passers-by to stop and stare. "Please try and remain civil."

"I'm not in the mood to be civil. I wanted to come to London without being followed."

"Didn't you want to see me at all?" There was something in Mycroft's voice that John had never heard before. It was hidden deep, and anyone else listening might not have noticed the tone of desperation, but it was there.

"I…" She turned, and John could see tears in her eyes. She brushed them away angrily. "I'll take a taxi with Sherlock and John. They can drop me off at my hotel." She turned back to her husband. "You're to keep out of this, Mycroft. I'll sort it out. I don't need you to do any of your government voodoo for me. Alright?"

"Very well. But I would like to see you before you return home. If that's acceptable to you."

"You can come to my hotel later. But if you bring her with you…" Kat glared at Anthea. "The deal is off."

John thought that Mycroft might hold his ground and insist Kat travel with him. Instead he nodded and watched grimly as Kat got into a taxi with John and Sherlock.

"I'm sorry," said John. "I didn't know you were Mycroft's wife. No one ever tells me anything." He glared at Sherlock, but his friend was not interested.

"Don't worry about it, John. I'm the deep dark secret they keep, aren't I, Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't reply.

"So," said John, "How did you and Mycroft meet?"

"Oh, in the usual way. At least by Holmes standards." Kat grinned wryly. "My father was an old retainer at Holmes Castle."

"They have a castle?"

Kat laughed. "No, that's just my name for it. A big old pile that houses me and Mummy Holmes, though thankfully she and I have learned to keep out of each other's way. Anyway, my dad was an old retainer. When he died, they were left with the problem of what to do with me. So they sent me away to school till I was old enough to marry Mycroft."

"Just like that?" John scratched his head. "I'm sorry, but that sounds…"

"Like the plot to a romantic novel. I know. Or what was that film with Audrey Hepburn?"

"Sabrina."

"Yes, that's it. I love that film."

"Yes me too. But it's a bit archaic."

"Don't you realise now, John, that the Holmes family have this code that really belongs in eighteen eighty five? Do everything for Queen and Country, keep a stiff upper lip and don't let an old retainers' daughter starve in the gutter or end up on the game."

"So why did you agree to the marriage? If you don't mind me asking."

"Oh, God knows," said Kat. "The Holmes's have a way of deciding things for you, and once they set their mind on it, there's no way of refusing them." John could attest to that. He'd moved in with Sherlock even whilst he was still thinking that his new flatmate might be a homicidal maniac.

Kat went quiet for a while after that, gazing out of the window, but John thought he had already guessed the true reason she married Mycroft. It was just a question of whether she was in love with him when she married him, or whether she fell in love with him afterwards. Sherlock had been right about her. She moved from light to dark as easily as someone closing the curtains. But John didn't see that as a problem to be solved. He saw it as the character of a fully rounded human being who had been hurt.

The taxi pulled up outside Kat's hotel. "Sherlock?" she said, before she got out.

"What?"

"I know you, and I know you would never consider lying to save someone's feelings. So tell me the truth. Is Mycroft sleeping with the phone woman?"

"I … er … I wouldn't know," said Sherlock. John had never heard him sound so uncertain about anything.

"Well, thanks anyway." She kissed her brother-in-law on the cheek and gave a quick wave to John before getting out of the taxi.

"That was kind," said John.

"What was?"

"Not telling her what you really think."

"I wasn't being kind. I honestly don't know."

"Bullshit," said John. "She was right about you. You never spare people's feelings, because it doesn't occur to you that they might have them. But you just spared hers. Or at least you didn't add to the anguish she's already feeling. You care about her."

"You're such a romantic, John. The next thing you're going to say is that I'm in love with her too."

"Too? So you know that Mycroft is then?"

"Yes, it's obvious, isn't it? Why else would he have her followed everywhere?"

"Apart from the fact that he has everyone followed, me and you and included? If he does care, you might have bloody told her when she was seeking comfort, Sherlock."

"When was she seeking comfort?"

John sighed. "Oh, I give up."

Kat unpacked her things and started making a cup of tea in her hotel room. She was thinking of Anthea, all the time her anger rising as she imagined what role the woman played in her husband's life. If he'd only ask her, she would play that role for him, or any other role he wanted her to play. She wouldn't spend all her life on the telephone either. Unless that was the problem. Perhaps Anthea's indifference was what attracted him. He didn't have to fear intimacy with a woman who was more interested in playing Angry Birds.

Every time she met up with her husband, she promised herself she would behave like a grown up, and prove to him that she could be trusted. Five minutes in his company; five minutes of trying to decipher his impassive features, and she turned into a whinging harpy.

That was why, when the hotel room door opened, she picked up an empty cup and threw it, narrowly missing Mycroft's head by inches. It shattered against the wall.

"Clear that up before you go," Mycroft said to the bellboy following him in. The lad already had another cup and saucer, which he put down on the dressing table.

"I'm sorry," Kat said the boy, ashamed that her temper had caused him work. She really ought to think things through a bit more.

Neither Kat nor Mycroft spoke until the boy had left the room, clutching a bunch of notes that Mycroft handed him to pay for the broken crockery.

"I can't decide if your aim is getting better or worse," Mycroft said. He went to the window and stood looking out. He ran a finger along the windowsill. "And I honestly don't know why you choose to stay in a tourist hotel where you have to make your own tea. If you were absolutely certain you didn't want to stay with me, you could have stayed at the Savoy. I have a permanent suite there for that purpose."

"Are you sleeping with her?" Kat took a deep breath, trying to calm her feelings. No wonder he never wanted to come home to her.

"I won't discuss anything with you until you calm down."

"Calm down! You have me followed everywhere I go, so that if I wanted to have an affair, it would be impossible. I can't even travel to London without you turning up to monitor my movements. All the time, you stay happily at your bloody club where no one is allowed to speak, and you employ a woman who is clearly not hired for her secretarial abilities."

"That's rather sexist, don't you think, dear?"

"If you call me dear once more, I'll throw the teapot at you, and I promise my aim will be perfect."

Mycroft turned to face her. "What should I call you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Darling? Sweetheart? Or is that too intimate for you? You could call me Kat, like everyone else does. At least then it might feel as if we're familiar with each other instead of complete strangers." She turned back to the tea. The making of it calmed her a little. A few seconds later she felt him close behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and started to massage them. "Don't…" she whispered.

"Don't?" he murmured.

She turned to face him, brushing his lips with hers. "Do I have to beg you to make love to me?" she asked.

She felt him smile against her neck. "It's very arousing when you do."

Later, lying in his arms in the darkened bedroom, she kissed his chest. "When we're like this, I can almost believe that you care about me," she whispered. "Do you love me, Mycroft?" She despised herself for asking, because any answer he gave would be unsatisfactory.

"You know I'm very fond of you, dear."

"Where's that bloody teapot when I need it?" she said. She was laughing this time, even as tears fell from her eyes. She sank her teeth into his nipple to punish him. "It's your turn to beg now," she said, kissing him along the length of his belly and past his naval, tracing the thin line of hair to his groin. She would find some way to make him lose control. "Well..."

He clutched the back of her head. "Please..."

Kat knocked on the door of her friend's house. It was in a quiet street in Knightsbridge that spoke of serious money.

"Kat, you're here, thank God," said Lady Helena Parker, after the maid had shown Kat into the drawing room. "Oh, isn't Mycroft with you?"

"Mycroft? No…" Kat's heart dropped. Of course that was the only reason that Helena had asked for her help. Mycroft was a difficult man to get an audience with, even for the nobility. But going through his wife was a sure fire way of getting him interested. "Why don't you let me assess the situation and then I'll know if he needs to be bothered with it," she said, with a tight smile.

Kat and Helena had been in school together. Helena had taught Kat everything she needed to become a proper lady, whilst Kat had taught Helena where all the dirty bits were in trashy novels.

"Of course, of course," said Helena. "He's a very busy man, I'm sure."

"What is the problem?" asked Kat, when they were seated with a cup of tea and a silver tray of miniature cakes. If asked, Helena would no doubt say they'd come from Harrods, but Kat recognised the range from a popular supermarket, mainly because being brought up in a lower class household had taught Kat to shop around for bargains, even if Mycroft gave her everything she needed. Clearly things weren't going well for Helena's financier husband, despite the opulent surroundings.

"Do you remember my sister, Pansy?"

"Yes, I think she was about twelve last time I saw her."

Helena nodded. "She's in her twenties now and has got in with a bit of a bad crowd. Socialists and all that. You know, don't you, that there are going to be big celebrations for the Jubilee?"

"Yes, I've heard." Not that Kat had been invited to any of the events. She guessed Mycroft would be going. Probably with Anthea. If he could get her to put her telephone away for long enough to curtsey to the Queen.

"Father is going to be a part of one of the parades. We're so proud. But these people that Pansy has got involved with have talked her into doing something really stupid. We only found out when I overheard her planning it on the telephone. But what can we do, Kat? We can't lock her up. She's twenty-four for goodness sake."

"Sorry, but what is she going to do? If she and her friends are intending to harm the Queen, then you really should report this."

"Goodness no."

"Goodness yes!" Kat put her cup down. That was the problem with the bloody nobility. They'd put up with Regicide rather than ruin the family reputation. "I know she's your sister, and family and everything, but don't you realise how much more trouble you'll be in if it was found out afterwards that you knew all along?"

"Oh no, I mean, goodness no, she doesn't mean any harm against the Queen. It's quite funny really. She's going to jump naked into the Trafalgar Square fountain, during the television broadcast. But she's going to be holding a banner saying 'Down with the Monarchy'."

"Oh… But why?" Kat was a bit disappointed. She had hoped it was some devious crime so that she could stop it and show Mycroft how able she was.

"It's what her friends have talked her into. Not that she needs it much. Pansy has always been an attention seeker."

"Yes, I remember her climbing that tree on your father's estate and claiming to be stuck so that fire, police and ambulance came out." What the emergency services hadn't known was that Pansy had been climbing the same tree since she was about five years old and had never had any trouble getting down. "What do you want me to do, Helena?"

"I was hoping you could talk to Mycroft and that he could lock up all her friends. Maybe even her for one night. To teach her a lesson, but discreetly so that the media don't find out."

"Why not let me speak to Pansy first?" If she took this to Mycroft he might just laugh. Neither would he care if some Peer of the Realm's stupid daughter made an idiot of herself on television. It was hardly a national emergency. "If that doesn't work, I'll talk to Mycroft."

That seemed to placate Helena. "Very well. She's here, upstairs. I'll bring her down, shall I?"

"No, it's alright. I'll go up and speak to her alone. She might listen to an outsider."

Pansy dressed as though she were still in college. Her hair was dyed scarlet red, and she wore a torn black t-shirt and expensively frayed jeans that most college students couldn't afford.

"Hello, Pansy. I don't know if you remember me…"

"Kat… Yeah I remember you. Are you alright?" Despite her upbringing, Pansy insisted on speaking with an affected South London accent.

It was more of a welcome than Kat expected. Perhaps because she wasn't family. "I'm fine thanks. I hear you're getting up to naughty jinks."

"Oh that. It's just a laugh, that's all."

"But a bit embarrassing for your dad."

"So? He'll get over it."

"Actually he might not. He's a very important aide to the Queen."

"So? He might start paying us more attention then."

"I see." Kat went to sit on the bed. "Is that what you want? More attention from your dad?"

Pansy shrugged. "You don't know what it's like having a father whose only interest in life is what's happening in Buckingham Palace. We never saw him kids. Or our mother for that matter. She was always on call. Me and Helena were fobbed off to a bunch of nannies, until we were old enough to go to boarding school. All our lives we've been second best."

"Despite what you think, I do know the feeling. When I was a little, my father worked as a butler. His whole life revolved around … around the family he worked for. Mum was there, but she died when I was ten. Then when…" Kat stopped. "Anyway, I do know what you mean. This bloke you're seeing. Has he put you up to this?"

"Sebastian? He suggested it, but I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to. Sebastian is a socialist and he thinks we're all under the yoke of the oppressors. I mean, it's the twenty-first century and some people still bow and curtsey to a monarch."

"Sebastian? A socialist, with a name like that?"

"Well his parents were capitalist pigs, who made money on the stock market. Last year he camped outside St. Paul's for weeks. I wish I'd been there to show solidarity with our brothers and sisters, but I'd already booked a holiday in Tuscany with friends."

"What a pity," said Kat with fake sincerity. " "Do you think that perhaps Sebastian will love you more if you do this thing?"

"He loves me enough already."

"Good, good. I'm glad to hear it. Because…"

"What? Are you saying he doesn't love me?"

"No, I'm only saying that if the only reason you're doing this is for attention, then you're wasting your time. It doesn't work, Pansy." Kat became thoughtful. "You think it will work, like the first time you have a proper tantrum. I mean as a grown up, and not as a child. You honestly believe that if you scream long enough and loud enough, the person you're talking to will listen to you. And the first time you strip in public to embarrass them, you might think it will fix everything that's wrong with your relationship as they rush to make things right. But it doesn't work. They don't know what to say to make things right and neither do you. So you can either keep messing up, doing something worse each time, in which case what you thought of as being daring really just makes you look like a sad and pathetic loser. Then people don't trust you. They won't want to spend time with you, and at worst, they have you followed around, just in case you do something to embarrass them again. So you're reduced to throwing crockery at them, then having to deal with their disappointment that you haven't managed to grow up yet. It's attention, yes. More attention than you can handle." Kat laughed humourlessly. "But it's not love."

"So it's true then," said Pansy, her eyes avidly watching Kat. "About your first wedding anniversary party? Helena said it was hilarious."

"It wasn't hilarious. It was pathetic then and it's pathetic now." Kat stood up. "And what you're going to do is pathetic. Oh no doubt all of YouTube will be agog for a while. But your message about socialism and the monarchy? No one will get that, Pansy because they'll be too busy talking about at your tits. In fact, when you think about it, it's a pretty crap plan, so what does Sebastian really want you to do it for?"

"What do you mean?" Pansy looked uncertain for the first time since Kat entered the room.

"A naked woman in the middle of Trafalgar Square whilst the Queen passes by? Hardly anyone will be looking at her. At least not in that moment."

Mycroft beckoned to the agent to switch off the recorder.

"So that's what this was all about," said Sherlock. "You think they were using the skinny dip in the fountain as a distraction. What? To make an attempt on the Queen's life?"

"That was always possible, yes."

"Well you don't need me now. Kat got your answer for you, and worked it out before we both did."

"Yes, she did, didn't she?" Mycroft picked up the phone. "Get me everything on an activist called Sebastian. He may have parents who were bankers, but that could be a lie. Get a list of everyone who camped outside St. Paul's last year. He may be amongst them. Oh and have Lady Pansy arrested. We'll keep her out of the way until all this is over."

"Hang on," said John. "She might listen to Kat."

"We can't take that risk," said Mycroft.

"How did you know what they were planning so soon?" Sherlock asked Kat. He and John were taking her in a taxi to the station.

"That really bugs you, doesn't it?" she said with an impish smile.

"It's been driving him crazy all night," said John. "I'd congratulate you, but I didn't get any sleep with him moaning about it."

"Time for separate rooms perhaps?" said Kat.

"What? Oh no, we're not… I'm not gay."

Kat just smiled, which didn't make John feel any happier.

"Sherlock, sweetheart," she said. "You may be able to scan people and tell them what hospital they were born in and the name of the midwife who birthed them, but the one thing you and Mycroft are totally crap at is reading emotions. In Pansy I saw a girl who was being whatever this Sebastian creep wanted her to be. You could see it in her eyes when I asked her if she thought he really loved her. Her lips said yes, but her eyes and body-language said otherwise. Plus she's a little bit naïve about modern life. Showing your boobs in the media is hardly shocking nowadays. Even the Duchess of Cambridge has pictures from her university days where she's wearing a see through dress. Pansy wouldn't have caused more than a couple of day's embarrassment for her father. The Royals look after their retainers in much the same way the Holmes's look after theirs. What the families get up to doesn't matter so much. This means there must have been another reason for her doing it. It's not shocking, but it would draw more than a few glances at the time."

The taxi stopped at St. Pancras station. "This is me," she said. "Thanks for the lift. I've run out of cash now though…"

"That's alright," said Sherlock. "We'll send the bill to Mycroft."

"Yes, do that." Kat kissed Sherlock's cheek. "You take care and remember to be nice to John and Mrs. Hudson."

She held out her hand to John. "It was good to meet you, John. If I can ever persuade Mycroft to come home from time to time, you'll have to come up for the weekend."

"If you were my wife, I'd never be away," said John.

"That's very kind, thank you." Kat swallowed hard, and then impulsively kissed him on the cheek.

"For God's sake, Sherlock," John said when Kat got out of the taxi. "Tell me what she did on their first wedding anniversary."

"We're never to speak of it again," said Sherlock.

"Was it that shameful?"

"No, not really. Mycroft doesn't want to upset her by reminding her or anyone else about it."

"I don't suppose he's bothered to tell her that's the reason, rather than letting her think he's still ashamed of her."

"No, I don't suppose he has."

John shook his head incredulously. "He doesn't deserve her, you know that, don't you? He just doesn't bloody deserve her."

"She can be quite problematic, you know. She throws cups. In fact, she threw one at me once. I was about ten, and it was from a doll's tea set, but even so, it's not exactly civilised behaviour."

"Actually that's just a natural reaction to dealing with one of the Holmes brothers. You don't know how many times I've wanted to smash a mug or two around yours and Mycroft's head." John laughed. "All those emotions she wears on her sleeve. It must scare Mycroft to death."

"I'm sorry I didn't come to see you again last night. I important matters to see to."

"Like tracking down Pansy's boyfriend." Kat sat at a table at one of the many coffee shops lining St. Pancras Station. She wouldn't look at Mycroft. If she did, her heart would break, and then she'd make a fool of herself in front of him yet again. Why had she agreed to marry to such a cold, unfeeling man? And why had she been stupid enough to fall in love with him? Remembering back to that time, she'd had some vague notion that it would be like the romance books, and that he would one day declare his undying love for her. That was when she was young and stupid. Now she knew differently. Mycroft was not that type of man.

"Yes. Thank you for your help."

"And I suppose you were seeing Anthea home."

"No."

"What? Couldn't get her to put her phone away?"

"Please don't start all that again, Katherine."

"Anyway, I'm glad you're here, Mycroft. I think … I think it's time we brought an end to this nonsense."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I want a divorce. You've done your duty. You took care of me after dad died, but I'm a big girl now. I've been studying for a degree."

"I know."

She snorted. "Of course you know. You've probably read all my essays. If I find out you had anything to do with my scores, Mycroft…"

"You should have more faith in your abilities. You didn't need my help."

"That's something at least. Anyway, I'm going to get a job. It's time I took care of myself. So you can call off your hounds, and stop having me followed everywhere."

"There'll be no divorce." He was doing that thing again. Riding roughshod over what she wanted, and she was afraid of being dominated by him.

"Oh come on, it will hardly damage your reputation. Most people don't even know about me."

"It has nothing to do with my reputation. I promised your father I would take care of you and I will."

She glared at him "And what about what I want? Did anyone ever stop to think about that? What if I want children? What if I want to be married to someone who loves me?"

"Is there anyone else?" For a moment she thought she saw fear in his eyes. Surely he wouldn't really care about that. At least not from an emotional standpoint. He'd probably only be afraid of the embarrassment of being cuckolded. He'd probably use that exact word too, stuck as he was, in the Victorian era.

"I'm sure you'd know if there was." Was that relief in his eyes? "My lecturer seemed to like me, but he just suddenly stopped coming one week and I haven't seen him since. No one knows what happened to him."

"Mmm," Mycroft sipped his coffee. "Children would be an easy problem to solve. It isn't as if we haven't practised from time to time."

She shook her head vigorously. "No. I'd never bring a child into our marriage. You don't know how to show love and children need that."

"Has it ever occurred to me that you might be wrong about me, Katherine?" Mycroft said. "Just because I don't sigh and gaze and emote like an overwrought film star doesn't mean that I don't feel anything."

"Prove it."

"What do you want? A declaration of love in the middle of St. Pancras Station?"

"That would probably be too much to ask. But you could start coming home to see me at weekends. You could get uglier secretaries. You could … you could invite me to one of the Jubilee celebrations with you, and prove that you're not ashamed to be seen with me."

"Very well."

"What?"

"All those things you said, I'll do. On one condition."

"What? That I don't show you up in public?"

"I know you won't do that. I probably trust you on that score more than you think. I really don't hold it against you for a silly mistake you made when you were twenty-one, Katherine, regardless of what you might think. You've been too hard on yourself about that, and for too long. What I'd like is that you let my driver take your suitcases to the car and you stay in London, with me. Then we'll go home at the weekends together. Mummy would like that."

"You mean actually live together full time? Aren't you too busy for a wife?" Though not for a secretary. She just stopped herself from saying that out loud.

"Always, but it would be pleasing to know that you'll be there at the end of the day and first thing in the morning."

"That was almost romantic." Kat smiled sadly.

"Then I'd better say something acerbic so that you don't think I've gone soft on you."

"I am holding a cup of latte," she said, with a grin. "I could do some serious damage to that sharp suit of yours."

"Let's go home, and if it makes you happy I'll let you at the crockery cupboard." He reached over and took her free hand in his. "Are you coming home with me?" The uncertainty in his eyes made her falter.

It wasn't a declaration of love, but it was more than he had ever offered her. He could very well be manipulating her, because he didn't want the embarrassment of a divorce. Reading other people's emotions only worked on people who had them.

"Kat?"

It was only a small glimmer of hope, but she decided to clutch onto it with all her might.

"Yes, Mycroft. I'll come home with you."

**The End**


End file.
